Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
I take a sniff of the wine. “Malbec?”
“That Argentinean one from one of Efa’s brothers-in-law’s vineyard” Bennett says.
“Have we met this brother-in-law?” Fisher asks Bennett.
“Honestly, I’m not sure,” he replies. “Maybe—oh no, definitely, because this is the American one.”
“Oh yeah, Vincent.”
“Vincent Cove? That’s Efa’s brother-in-law?” I ask.
“One of them,” Bennett says.
I sit back on the couch and feel my body unlock, as if it realizes it’s out of danger and my adrenaline and cortisol can return to normal levels now that I’m here. Among friends.
“I’ve missed this,” I say.
“We’ve missed you,” Bennett says.
“Don’t get soppy on me, Bennett,” I say, and raise my glass.
“What’s going on with your dad?”
I let out a long sigh. “He can’t speak,” I say. “Not really. He can’t walk. He can’t feed himself.” Seeing him today was hard. Physically, he looked like my father—a little less put together and like he’d aged ten, twenty years. He still looked like Mr. Alden. But his spirit wasn’t there. It was like there was a newborn baby occupying his body. It had been horrifying.
My mother fussed over him in a way I’d never seen before. She plumped his pillows and offered him spoonfuls of ice cream. She brought him his iPad and switched off the television, which must have been left on by one of the hospital staff. She talked to him like he was talking back to her. She told him about the weather and bits and pieces of gossip from her social circle.
It brought with it pieces of memories. Maybe they were like this with each other when I was younger? Recent memories are of my father and me talking about business and my mother chastising me for being single. It’s as if my relationship with both of them has become more distant as I’ve gotten older.
“I’m so sorry, Jack,” Worth says, and everyone else offers their support in their mutterings.
“They say he should make some quick gains in the next few weeks. More over the next few months.” I don’t mention what the doctors said about risks of a second stroke and how his age will make recovery a more difficult path.
“That’s good,” Byron says.
I nod, trying to seem positive.
“And so you’re stepping in for your father in relation to…”
“Everything. The trust, the foundation, the charitable endeavors.” The role I’ve been training for my entire life is mine. The sword of Damocles has not passed from above my father’s head to mine. It feels like it has fallen.
The responsibility sits heavy inside me. Not because I’m not capable. I am. The apprenticeship has been long and thorough. But I’m not sure I want it. I wasn’t ever sure I wanted it, and now that I have it, it feels like it weighs me down in every sense.
“How’s Iris?” Leo asks.
“Where are all your lovely wives and girlfriends?” I ask, suddenly aware that it’s just the six of us. It hasn’t been the six of us for a while. Monday-night drinks have been replaced with a Sunday brunch with partners invited. Even though I’ve enjoyed the change in dynamic, I have to admit, the six of us are what I needed tonight.
“Out together,” Worth says. “Sophia’s idea.”
“Does anyone mind if I sell The Alden Hotel?” I ask. I can’t keep my mind going in one direction tonight. It’s thinking about my father, then Iris, then my friends, back to my mother, then Iris. Then Iris again. Iris, Iris. Iris.
My five friends exchange looks, and it feels like silence is being passed around between them.
“Did the cat get your tongues? A simple yes or no would do. Or maybe a thumbs up or thumbs down.”
“Did you get an offer for the hotel?” Worth asks.
“I did. Are you thinking of making me another?”
“I wasn’t, but maybe I am now. If you’re serious, I’ll talk to Avril.”
“None of you care? Or have I said the unspeakable?”
“Everyone cares,” Fisher says. “But not about the hotel. Everyone cares about you.”
I glance around at the circle of friends before me. “What?”
“We asked you about Iris. And you started talking about everything but,” Fisher says. “How are things between you two? Every time I see you in Colorado, you look like…”
“A fruit farmer?” I suggest, trying to bring some levity to the conversation.
“Like you had the stick removed from your ass,” he replies.
I huff out a laugh. “Yeah. I like it in Colorado.”
“It’s like you’re more the real Jack,” Fisher says. “The one we get to see behind closed doors, rather than the one who attends the ballet with your mom or is on the board of every charity run out of New York City.”
I nod, agreeing with my friend. I have nothing to add. Everyone knows me well in this room, but Fisher probably knows me the best.
“And now you’re back,” Byron says.